


the one about how bad brian has to pee after the xbox stream

by highoctane



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: Dom/sub, Everyone at Polygon Fucks, M/M, Mature Competent Kind of Unprofessional Gays, Omorashi, Polyamory, piss kink with no actual piss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 21:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highoctane/pseuds/highoctane
Summary: Drink up, baby boy.





	the one about how bad brian has to pee after the xbox stream

**Author's Note:**

> whoops

The stream can't end soon enough.

Even with a bio break, there's still—god, there's still like two litres of Mountain Dew in Brian's system, and he's not sure if it's the liquid volume or the sugar that's making his nerves jangle as he stumbles through the sign-off, urging everyone to come back in a few hours for the next horrible crime Brian's about to commit on his body. This crime's bad enough, honestly. He'd had an idea of how hard it was going to be, but imagining and experiencing are two different things.

When Jenna gives them the signal that she's cut the stream, Brian's up like a shot. He doesn't even make his excuses, just tries to jump as nimbly as his swollen belly will allow over the many, many thousands of dollars of streaming equipment, groaning comically with each jostling step.

The promise of relief is short-lived, though.

"Hey, where are you going," Pat calls after him, and the tone of his voice makes Brian stop in his tracks. There's—that tone is _too_ playful, too light, to be a real admonishment, which means Pat's putting it on, which means things are about to get _real_ goddamn interesting for Brian in this streaming room. Brian winces as he lands heavily on the next step, and shockwaves ripple through his body.

"Uh," he stalls, trying to think of the magical words that will convince Pat he's not fun sport right now. "Just, gonna go hit the ol' bathroom, Pat, you know how it is."

"And leave us to reset the room for the next stream?" Pat asks, all innocent guile. He's standing, Brian realizes too late, close enough to clap Brian on the shoulder. "Come on, it won't take long."

Jenna pokes her head up from behind the table where she'd set up the streaming laptop. "It's alright!" she chirps, waving a handful of cables, "It’s nothing! You guys have been on stream for like two and a half hours, go take a break. Simone and I will clean up."

Pat's hand squeezes his shoulder, thumb digging into the place where Brian's been tense for the last half hour of the stream. Brian takes a quick, shaking breath. "No, no," he says, waving a hand at Jenna. Pat's thumb rubs, instead. "Like Pat said, uh, it won't take long, so I can just… wait, it's fine."

"Good, thank god; my ass is totally asleep," Simone says, getting to her feet from where she'd been camped out in chat on the floor. She slips her feet back into her flats. "I'm gonna go order pizza on Tara's credit card. Jenna?"

"Ooh," Jenna exclaims, popping to her feet. "I'm in!"

Simone follows Jenna out of the streaming room, but not before turning in the doorway just before she closes it. She arches one devastating eyebrow at them as she points a finger at Pat. "If you make a mess, I swear on your life I will—"

Pat's hands go up, wide. "We'll be good," he promises.

Simone makes the universal gesture of _I'm watching you_ and closes the door. With its click, Brian feels his fate sealed. Or, at least, the next ten minutes of it. Gosh, he hopes it's not longer than ten minutes. He has limits. Pat hasn't found them yet, but he's sure they're _somewhere_.

"How's it going, Brian," Pat asks, and Brian groans at the teasing lilt of his voice.

"Oh my god, Pat," Brian pleads, "I really—I really don't think I can do this right now."

Both Pat and Clayton laugh, and Brian—gosh, it's not like he'd forgotten Clayton was there, but Clayton getting in on their little games, their little power plays, is still relatively new, and the hot flush of embarrassment that _this_ is going to be observed is—it's a lot. It's a lot, and the pleasant twist that embarrassment _usually_ makes in his gut is doubled, no, tripled by the fact that his bladder's _so_ goddamn full it feels like his eyes are floating. Brian can feel the prickle of a blush start creeping down his neck.

"You really don't think you can, or are you just being a brat?" Pat asks, honestly, and Brian closes his eyes and whimpers, a little.

Sure, he could end it. It's—it's a little outside what they'd usually do—like, _bathroom_ stuff, you know—it'd be totally within reason to actually walk out of the room. Pat'd be fine. He wouldn't hold it against Brian.

On the other hand, though:

Brian wipes his mouth with his hand, smooths down his t-shirt. "It's fine. It's—fine. What do you want me to do?"

He's rewarded by Pat stepping closer, the heat of him all down his back as he slides his arm around Brian's body to cup the convex curve of his lower stomach. He doesn't apply pressure, but the threat is there, in his fingertips, as he presses his mouth to the skin behind Brian's ear. "Good boy," he whispers, and Brian shudders.

"Why don't you help Clayton with the cables," Pat continues, in a more normal voice, and Brian nods.

There can't—there can't possibly be much to do with the cables, considering they're streaming again tonight. Brian steps delicately over to where Clayton is standing, on the far side of the couch. Clayton hands him a length of cable to spool and Brian takes it, happy to have something to do with his hands.

"How does it feel," Clayton asks, not meeting Brian's eye. The usual softness of his voice, of his whole presence, is grounding, and part of the reason he's taken to joining in sometimes. He's a good balance for Patrick, a good cop to Pat's bad. Brian takes some comfort in his steadier form of control: immovable object versus unstoppable force.

How it feels: how it feels is _bad_ , an aching, burning, pulsing pressure in his groin that gets worse the more he thinks about it. Brian feels like he's about to burst; it makes him itchy, in that way he gets when everything is too much, too overwhelming, and Pat has to force him down, make him feel only one thing at a time. It's just one feeling, but it's so large, so heavy, so all-consuming, that it blots out the urge to perform.

"I… have to piss so bad, oh my god," Brian mutters, angrily winding the cable around his elbow and hand. Clayton laughs under his breath. "It's literally torture. You're the worst. Pat's the worst, and you're his enabler, god."

"You're good for it," Clayton reassures him, and takes the spool of cable from Brian's forearm. With his other hand, he cups Brian's jaw and strokes his cheek with his thumb. "Can I kiss you right now, or is it too much?" he asks.

Brian nods, urgency making his motions jerky, and Clayton steps in and stoops to kiss him, gently, like Brian's still an expensive piece of equipment he's scared to break. Brian opens his mouth and lets Clayton kiss his fill of him: his warm lips, his gently probing tongue, his scratchy beard, the still-shy exploration of Brian's willingness to submit to it. To _him_.

The sound of liquid trickling sends a thrill of panic through Brian, and he tenses enough that Clayton pulls away in concern. Brian steps back, ready to be mortified, but it's just Pat pouring the last of the Mountain Dew into the campy glass skull Brian had been drinking out of during the stream. 

Pat shoots him a wicked grin when he realizes he's gotten Brian's attention. He's pouring _real_ slowly into the funnel, really drawing out the crystalline tinkle of the liquid hitting the glass.

"Is that necessary," Brian grits out. He can't stop himself from reaching down to adjust his dick in his pants, because the sound is absolutely sympathetic.

Pat finishes the pour up high with a flourish, and taps the bottle against the funnel to get every last drop in. "No one drinks this garbage except you, Brian, I didn't want it to go to waste."

"Oh, no, oh, no no no," Brian replies, as horrified realization dawns on him. "Come on, Pat, that's too cruel, I swear to god I'll—"

Pat holds up a hand for silence as he steps carefully over the streaming set-up, bringing the skull, and Brian's mouth snaps shut. He's not sure, honestly, if it's out of obedience or sheer self-preservation. Both? Both, probably.

Pat gets into Brian's space and holds up the skull. Brian can feel his face distort in displeasure. "Drink up, baby boy," Pat says with a smirk, holding it to Brian's lips.

"I fucking hate you," Brian mumbles as Pat takes his chin in one hand and pours it slowly into his mouth. Brian has to get on board fast or drown, as a trickle of sticky soda escapes and wends down his chin.

Pat forces him keep pace, starting slow but eventually tipping the skull so he has to chug the last of it, which is all told a deeply unpleasant and punishing experience. Brian squeezes his eyes shut and gasps through the last swallows, immensely relieved when Pat takes the skull away from his lips and shoves it at Clayton.

When Brian cracks his eyes open again, Pat's staring at him with a dark sort of intent that sends a frission of anticipation through Brian, clenching deep in his belly. Pat takes Brian's head in his hands, pinning him in place. He's staring at Brian's parted lips, as Brian struggles to breathe around the twin piercing stabs of need that lance through him.

Pat licks up the trail of soda on Brian's chin, taking his time. When their lips meet, Pat's mouth is bruising, and Brian can feel his nails dig into his hairline. His tongue plunges into Brian's mouth, chasing the sticky sweet flavour, taking and taking, and Brian can only stand there and take it and try, trembling, to remember how to be a human adult and keep control of himself, because—god, it's Pat; Pat, who's been tormenting him for hours, laughing at his discomfort, humiliating him in so many subtle ways. Brian rocks back and forth on his feet, whimpering as the hot clutch of pleasure in his gut threatens his dignity.

It's still a surprise when Clayton comes up behind him, his beard scraping the back of Brian's neck. His arms wrap around Brian, his hands tracing down his shirt and then, reversing, up underneath it, skating his fingertips over Brian's taut stomach. "Please, don't, please, don't, ah—" Brian pleads, his heart plummeting as both Clayton and Pat laugh at him.

He gasps and squeezes his eyes shut again, humiliated tears spilling down his cheeks, as Clayton pushes in on his bladder—just lightly, but it's enough to make him wail into Pat's mouth, writhing in their hold. He clenches his legs shut and pleads, begs, "—seriously, don't, oh my god, I'm gonna fucking go, please—"

"You're gonna be fine," Pat reassures him, and Brian sobs. He is _not going to be fine_. "Here," Pat says, nipping along Brian's jaw and down his neck. "Let Clayton help you."

"He—what—" is all Brian gets out before the rest comes out garbled, because Clayton's grabbing him firmly through the jeans, rubbing and squeezing, and it's a perverse sort of relief, like touching a bruise, because the tide of need surges backwards just a bit. It's just enough that Brian can breathe again, and he does, taking huge gulps of air as Clayton slips his hand into Brian's pants, his wrist popping the button as he goes. He takes Brian's confused dick in hand and gives it a few slow pumps, and Brian whines in both relief and pleasure.

Pat kisses him again, more gently, as Clayton works him into a trembling state of suspended animation, caught between them both just as he's caught between two warring states of need. Slowly, carnal desire muscles out everything else; his dick hardens in Clayton's hand and it pushes back the urgency of his bladder, scouring out everything but the sweet lingering feeling of humiliation by their hands.

"Better?" Pat prompts him, and Brian nods. "Say thank you, Brian."

"Th-thank you, Brian," Brian parrots obediently, and after a baffled beat of silence Clayton puts his forehead against the back of Brian's neck and _laughs_ , a real laugh, abruptly shattering the mood. Even Pat cracks, stifling a giggle with the backs of his knuckles.

"God, you're such a _brat_ ," Pat laughs, leaning in to press a light kiss to Brian's smiling lips. "I had more planned for you."

"I know, I'm sorry," Brian says, trying not to giggle and upset the delicate balance of his humours. "Thank you, Clayton," he does say, sincerely, and Clayton kisses the back of his neck before pulling his hand out of Brian's pants, leaving him hard and bereft but at least, somewhat, more under control.

"You good?" Clayton asks.

Brian nods, and straightens his shirt again. "Yeah, a bit, but now I gotta walk to the bathroom with a fucking boner, _thank you_ ," he sulks.

Pat cups his face and kisses him one more time, lingering, almost apologetic. "You're a good sport. I wouldn't fuck you up too bad at work, you know that."

"I know," Brian replies, brushing his nose against Pat's. "I—seriously though, please move out of my way now?"

This time, the sound of Pat and Clayton's laughter buoys him as he dashes out of the room and to imminent, much-needed relief.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment moderation on for those feeling a little shy to comment on some dirty boys. Let me know if you want your comment to remain private and I won't unscreen it!


End file.
